Screw It
by Jessica-Doom
Summary: It was his birthday, for Salazar's sake! Why should he have to spend this night alone?


**A/N: Today is Draco's birthday! In honor, I've written this short little one shot when I should be sleeping before work...**

* * *

It was perfectly sane and normal to go to a sex club on your birthday.

Or…maybe it wasn't and Draco just kept repeating this over and over in his mind (and under his breath) to make himself feel better. That was more likely.

Not that he had ever regarded himself as fully sane, to begin with. So why did it really matter? And it wasn't like anyone here knew him…so why did he care? Why was his mother's voice, whispering about proper Pureblood behavior, rolling over and over in the back of his mind?

In a feeble attempt to push away the intruding thoughts, Draco slammed back the rest of his drink. To the right of where he was currently sitting (at a booth in an attempt to be alone), a man was less-than-quietly enjoying the taste of what lies between his partner's legs. The sound alone was enough to make Draco turn tail and run. This right here was a prime example of the rest of the club. It was hot and muggy and the air was filled with the heavy stench of writhing bodies. Although the intimacy of the people surrounding him was beautiful, he couldn't keep the disgusted chill from his spine.

With a soft sigh, he pulled himself from the secluded booth and made for the bar again. This empty glass was his third gin and tonic. Now would probably be a good time to stop. His intention was to leave the glass and then leave the club. But the instant he caught the bartender's eye, words betrayed him and he asked for another.

Something was keeping him from leaving. That something was likely the cold bed waiting for him at home. He couldn't go back there. Not right now. Not before just a taste of human contact.

It was his birthday, for fuck's sake! Why should he have to spend this night alone?

Halfway through gin and tonic number four in his secluded booth, Draco had his answer to that question. And, surprisingly not for the first time in his life, Harry Bloody Potter was the answer to it.

In the smack center of the club was a stage. Currently upon it, a group of nubile dancers were stripping and grinding upon one another. It wasn't really Draco's thing – straight girls playing gay for attention – but his eyes were drawn there nevertheless. It beat looking literally anywhere else in the cramped space. So he watched them, admiring their flexibility as one would a sculpture in a museum, and found himself a bit entranced.

Or, more likely, drunk.

He was drunk and it was hitting him right in that moment. And it was also in that moment that someone decided to recognize him and make a _thing_ out of it. The last person on earth he'd want to recognize him here, really.

Glassy-eyed, Draco looked up at the shocked utterance of his surname. And sure as day, there stood Potter. So close to the still-fellating couple, he could likely feel their body heat. He seemed unfazed and even managed a smile. None of this quite registered as real. In this state, the world was clouded and distant. Draco was sufficiently checked out. So…he smiled back. His guard completely down. "Saint Potter…come for a shag, eh?"

In the dark, Draco couldn't be entirely certain but he thought he saw a blush take over Potter's olive complexion. This made him smile wider. Potter shuffled on his feet and turned to look around the club. Fully taking everything and everyone in. Unashamed. "It's a good place to lose yourself, isn't it?"

Draco frowned and nodded. This had been his reason to come here. To lose himself. And…possibly even treat himself with some human contact for the night. But why should Harry Potter of all people need to do the same? "Come here often, then?" he asked, being nosy of course. This was a man who seemed to speak from experience. And the Prophet did run quite a few articles speculating on this Chosen One's long run of being single…. So he was curious. And had no inhibitions left.

"On occasion."

The answer was so matter-of-fact, it nearly stunned Draco. He blinked, once out of surprise, before recovering and looking down at his glass. He finished off the rest of his drink then stood with the intention of getting another. Until his knees gave way and he stumbled forward, that is. A strong arm caught him around the middle and there was a sure hand on his back.

There was no hesitancy in the way Potter touched him. And, as stated, Draco was _drunk_. So he really couldn't be blamed for the giggle or the way he relaxed back into this man. Or…for the kiss. If they could call it that. It was easier than referring to it as 'the sloppy way Draco pressed his gin-soaked lips to the corner of Potter's unsuspecting mouth'.

It wasn't Draco's fault. He just couldn't help himself. Sex was literally in the air…so something was bound to happen. And Potter was a fine enough looking bloke…. And it was his birthday, dammit! So, yeah, he kissed him. And when he realized what he'd done, he pulled back and looked up at Potter with an obvious eagerness for more.

The club had a row of doors to the back, all soundproofed and perfect for the more shy couples. Draco would most definitely consider himself in that group. Though he was here in this place of his own free will, he wasn't exactly comfortable with putting it all on display. His mother was still in the back of his mind, after all. And the thought of her was enough to keep private things _private_.

His head in the clouds, Draco led Potter back towards one of these doors. He chose one still marked ' _Unoccupied_ ' and slipped inside, throwing a look back at the other. Catching the unsure way he was worrying at his lip. And the way he glanced over his shoulder before closing the door. Like he was afraid someone would see him with this particular partner. He _did_ have a reputation to uphold….

Still looking quite unsure, Potter made for the plush bed draped in red and pink. He sat gingerly on the edge, eyes trained to the floor. This was sudden. Even Draco realized that through the fog over his brain. And it was a bit weird. He'd dreamed about almost this exact scenario (minus the current backdrop) too many times to count. At school, Potter was almost always on his mind. And teenage boys had certain hormones…. The _way_ he thought of Potter was bound to change eventually. It was inevitable.

"This is weird, right?"

Draco's brow furrowed and he leaned back against the locked door. It was a bit weird. But still thrilling. More thrilling that watching those dancers out there. His eyes falling shut and head falling back, Draco grunted – neither a 'yes' or a 'no'. His thoughts swam in gin, all slippery and impossible to grasp. Except for the repeated mantra that it was his goddamn birthday….

"Fuck it," he muttered, icy grey eyes snapping open and locking onto Potter's. Staring at him relentlessly as he took slow, careful steps forward. Trying not to stumble. Trying to look sure. "It's my birthday," he stated, slipping carefully onto Potter's lap. His arms went around the man's neck, lips so sure this time when they caught Potter's. His hips so sure as they ground down. His hand so sure when it reached between them to massage Potter's obvious approval.

"And for my birthday...I want you to fuck me, Potter."


End file.
